#Metal Hangar Building | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

buckets-and-trees · 24 days

Text

Prepare For Takeoff

Title: Prepare For Takeoff Characters/Pairings: soft dark!Mafia!Andy Barber x female!reader Word Count: 1.5k

Content Warnings: vaginal fingering, dubious existing engagement

Logistical Notes: Another piece early in the days of the I'm Your Man AU.

Author Note: I started this AU when I was at an airport, and my recent trip had me thinking of these two again, and it had me wishing I were Andy's to spoil.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

While you aren’t used to being chauffeured to every aspect of your life (nor did you want to get used to it, the driver and vehicle yet another element that Andy insisted on in the new life he inserted you into), you know a security checkpoint where your driver had to stop and speak to someone else is not part of the typical route back to the palatial Barber Estate. You sit up straighter in your seat, looking first to the men in the front, but neither of them give anything away, your bodyguard Shep’s face is the same stoic expression as ever, and your driver Mark only glances into the rear view mirror to meet your eyes briefly.

Your brows furrow and you look out the window. You can only see large white buildings on either side of the SUV, and the overwhelmingly industrial feel has you at a loss for guessing the where and why of your location.

That is until you reach the end of the building and the car pulls around the corner. Now you see these large white industrial walls make up the sides of a row of aircraft hangars. While your jaw doesn’t drop, your mouth opens slightly. The jaw dropping moments as a character in the life of Andy Barber are so frequent, but you are starting to control your reactions a bit more.

The SUV pulls up smoothly to the side of a private jet, sleek and black, the late afternoon sun shining off its metal sides. Mark stops the vehicle, and as Shep opens your door, you are not surprised to see you are stepping out exactly onto a long, blue carpet that leads from the SUV to the bottom of a set of white stairs. At the top of them, Andy emerges from the plane, nodding to you. You smooth down the front of your clothing and glare up at him.

“What is this?” You call up loudly.

“You know what it is.”

“Where are we going?”

“Away for the weekend. Now, don’t be difficult, sweetheart, you’re going to love this.”

You feel a sting in your eyes but quickly blink it away.

You hate this because you know he is right.

Yet again he will undoubtedly give you exactly what you want and go beyond what you could even imagine for it, but because he wants to, not because you want any of it.

That is the constant curse in this relationship.

Everything you want, but all your choices stolen from you before you can make them.

You concentrate on taking deep breaths as you ascend the staircase, mustering the strength that you will need for this. You have to armor yourself against his charm and his cunning. Every moment with him is dangerous.

“I thought it was time to take you away, make you forget the everyday. I know you’ve been under a lot of stress.”

You blink, open your mouth, then shut it again. He is the source of the stress, but you don’t trust what would happen if you said that.

He smirks, then sweeps you into a kiss that immediately sends tingles all through your body, from where his lips press insistently against yours, tongue teasing into your mouth, to the hand he plants possessively onto you hip and the other on your back, pressing you flush against him, down to your toes, legs feeling unstable as he takes your breath away. You are helpless but to cling to his shoulders and kiss him back, because your traitorous body willingly surrenders to him, damn near craves him.

He finally lets you breathe again when you tap against his chest and turn your head, gasping for air.

He kisses your cheek, then your neck just beneath your ear.

Getting your breath back, you give a small huff. “So, what? I don’t even get to pack? You just have whatever I need for the flight and when we get wherever we’re going, I’ll just arrive to a closet full of new clothes and accessories?”

“Naturally.” You can feel his smirk against your skin for a moment before he bites at your delicate flesh.

“This is insane.” You push away from him and step through the open door of the jet.

“It’s not insane,” he says, stalking close behind you.

The interior of the plane is sleek, minimal, but the flavor of the furniture and decor evoke the same feeling as the common spaces of his estate with lush leather and dark wood.

The fact that there’s furniture…

“It’s not normal.”

Hand to your back, Andy ushers you further into the plane. “You’re never going to be subjected to normal again in your life.”

“But what if I liked normal?”

He sits on a leather loveseat and pulls you down immediately next to him, nearly in his lap. He counters, “You liked needing to get to the airport early, check your bags or haul them through security with your three-ounces-or-less limit on liquids, take off your shoes, and trek through the terminals to your gate?”

You sigh and look straight ahead.

He chuckles and beckons over a gentleman who offers a tray of drinks.

“Bourbon or champagne?”

“Thank you,” Andy says, and takes a glass of the dark bourbon.

“No, thank you,” you decline.

“The captain says we are clear for take off on your word, Mr. Barber.”

Andy nods. “Wheels up then. We’ll take dinner in ninety minutes. You can leave us until that point.”

“Call if you need anything, sir.”

You hear the click of a door as the man disappears. Andy takes a slow drink, then presses the glass to your lips, forcing you to take a sip before he sets the glass aside.

You feel the jet begin to move and then turn toward the runway.

“You deserve more than normal,” Andy says, eyes on you, returning to your conversation from moments before.

“Andy…” you hedge.

“I will whisk you away anywhere in the world. I’ll give you everything you want. You’re mine to spoil. You’re going to live a beautiful life with me.”

“Andy,” you start again, but unsure how to counter.

He growls your name and yanks you abruptly into his lap. He cuts any argument you were about to launch into by biting at your lower lip and grinding you down onto his hard bulge.

You whimper and throw your head back.

Andy assaults your bared neck with heated kisses. He knows he’ll have you a pliant mess for him to slake his lust in a matter of moments.

You know it, too.

And you know he’ll overwhelm you with pleasure of your own, never a selfish lover even though every other bit of him is selfish.

His fingers slip under the fabric covering your core without hesitation, and he strokes your labia, gathering more and more of your arousal as the plane picks up speed. Slow strokes back and forth, back and forth. The pad of his forefinger circles your clit and you bite back a whimper.

“Mmm, you know I love those noises you make.” He circles your bundle of nerves again, this time with his thumb, letting two of his fingers dip just slightly into your slick channel. “Give me what I want,” he coos, coaxing with another circle, and another, and you finally break, moaning openly for him.

“That’s it, sweetheart, let me know how good I make you feel.”

He pumps his fingers full into the knuckle now, and not like anyone else you’d ever been with intimately before. It’s only been a few weeks, but Andy has taken every opportunity to become a master of your body and coax and command pleasure out of every inch of you. He knows just how much pressure to apply when fucking you with his fingers, and he pushes into that spongy spot at the front of you walls insistently, repeatedly as the jet leaves the ground, making you cry out and shake on an abrupt orgasm.

You sink forward, hanging your head on his shoulder, but it’s only the first orgasm he plans to ply from your body on this flight. He draws your left hand to his mouth, and hums as he places a kiss first against the band of your engagement ring on your finger and then into your palm, before trailing his lips to your wrist. He eases you down to the floor, and you lay back and watch as he shucks off his pants above you before descending down to sheath himself inside you next, demanding more.

And as he fucks you there, then on another of the chairs, then takes you back to the sleeping quarters for yet more, you bend to his will and his demands and his lust, overcome with everything he is and everything he makes you feel, lost in the complexity of what he’s confined you into. His spoiled and ruined sweetheart.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

#andy barber #andy barber smut #andy barber x reader #mafia au #chris evans characters #soft dark andy barber #I'm your man #aspen wrote something

336 notes · View notes

genshingorlsrevengeance · 5 months

Note

Kind of a dumb request but how about team DEFY + any girls you want with an s/o who somehow managed to build a mech straight out of Armored Core? Insanely maneuverable, loads of guns, can fly, etc and s/o built it in a garage with a box of scraps lol

(GFL/Genshin Impact) Task Force DEFY, Amber, Jean, Fischl, and Yoimiya's S/O building an Armored Core Mech

(Video Source: Pongsifu on YT) Luckily for you, I have been binging Armored Core 6 for the past month, and will hop on ANY request to talk/write about anything Mecha related.

12 stared at the giant 10 meter mechanical behemoth that had suddenly made its home inside Griffin's Hangar.

(AK-12) "...We didn't always have that, right?"

The machine's chest slowly opened and revealed a cockpit containing S/O, waving hello from the seat.

Apparently, they had constructed the mech out of spare parts lying around.

(AK-12) "Impressive...But, why exactly did Griffin have that many parts lying around? And how did you find guns that big?"

On the battlefield, she watches the mech fly around at almost breakneck speed, watching them zip around and eradicate one base after the other.

Kicking tanks and shooting helicopters out of the sky, it was far more effective to watch them fight instead of having to do anything.

(AK-12) "Hm. We'll be out of a job at this rate."

94 knew this was going to happen.

T-Dolls would only last so long on the battlefield before they were replaced by the next best thing.

However, she sure as hell wasn't expecting S/O of all people to surpass her, with a mech constructed out of junk parts no less.

It was honestly awe-inspiring what humans could engineer for the sole purpose of destruction.

And it was also physically impossible. Something that size should not be quad-wielding miniguns and moving that fast.

(AN-94) "...How has your machine not collapsed from the Earth's gravity?"

94 is more confused than anything.

15 was impressed more than anything.

She knew S/O was an engineer, but to construct a mech out of the parts they had was nothing short of a miracle and logic-defying technical prowess.

(AK-15) "How does your machine constantly reload the missiles while on the field? It is the only weapon you seem to have, and no one constructed missiles that large, even during World War 3."

She can't help but wonder why DEFY was even needed if Griffin had engineers like S/O around.

Well, at least S/O was on their side.

(RPK-16) "I wonder if humanity will wipe itself out faster with these new machines."

16 is fascinated by the human desire to make machines to wipe out life faster.

Granted, Griffin usually just fought Sangvis which consisted nothing of machines, but it would only be a matter of time until everyone else had their own version of S/O's mech.

And probably not one constructed out of junk either.

(RPK-16) "I must ask, S/O. How can you be in the cockpit of that thing and not reduce yourself to jelly? Surely the G-Force alone would kill you?"

Well, it's not the first thing that humans have done that confused her.

(Angelia) "Hmph. Why did they even bother calling us if they had you here? And could you have done that this entire time?"

Angelia is impressed and annoyed.

If S/O could create a hulking machine of death before, why did they only decide to do it now?

She both dreads and admired S/O's tenacity. To make such an effective machine out of junk took a hell of a lot of elbow grease.

Angelia doesn't question it, seeing that it's working alright so far, but she definitely wants to look into upgrading it.

(Angelia) "S/O, with me. We're painting DEFY's logo on it."

(Amber) "THAT IS SO COOL!"

Amber could create Baron Bunnies with a lot of yarn, but S/O could make a machine that dwarfed Ruin Guards with some random pieces of metal!

(Amber) "You have got to teach me how to do that! And lemme ride it too!"

Amber demands to fly with S/O, even though she can't go nearly as fast as they can.

She watches as S/O wipes out entire nests of monsters before leaping away with its mantis-like legs to the next location.

Honestly, it made her feel jealous.

(Amber) "Heeey, can I ask one of those for my birthday! I bet it'll make flying around Mondstadt a breeze!"

Though as the outrider, she kindly asks S/O not to park the giant machine weighing presumably hundreds of tons in the city.

For obvious reasons.

The color on Jean's skin fades when she heard Klee helped S/O build a brand new toy.

One that put her bombs to shame.

And seeing it park itself next to the cathedral, waving hello to her as she was standing at the entrance-

She was about ready to faint.

(Jean) "S/O! Get down from there right this instant!"

Jean gives S/O and Klee an earful for making such an absolute monstrosity that could potentially damage the land and city!

But seeing it in action and fast it disposed of a Hilichurl camp, it filled her with pride and dread.

Pride for her S/O's creative ingenuity, but absolute fear for what S/O and Klee could make next.

Especially considering how fast S/O's machine moved, and the weapons it had.

Where did Klee find the gunpowder for quad-cannons mounted on it?!

(Jean) "I pray that it won't blow up the city on accident..."

(Fischl) "...WHAT?!"

Fischl completely breaks character upon seeing the giant machine staring at her.

(Fischl) "How did...Why...?! Get down from there and tell me how this mechanical monstrosity came to be!"

(Oz) "You just want to ride the machine yourself, Mein-"

(Fischl) "SILENCE!"

...But yes, she constantly nags S/O to let their Prinzessin give the machine a try.

She finds it so friggin' cool, and desperately wants one of her own, in purple!

She watches with some kind of morbid satisfaction watching S/O's machine wipe out their enemies in electrical explosions.

(Fischl) "I hereby dub your steel horse…Raven, of the 621th star!"

(Oz) "…Why 621?"

Oh, that's where all of Yoimiya's spare fireworks have been going into.

(Yoimiya) "HOLY CRAP! What on earth did you make, S/O?!"

The machine seemed like it leapt from another world!

Especially with how fast it moved, honestly she was amazed S/O wasn't vomiting their guts out as soon as they exited.

While it seemed like it would do massive damage, instead they used it for something even better.

As the machine soared above the skies of Inazuma, the cannons on the arms and shoulders fired toward the moon, the starry night exploding into hundreds of beautiful colors!

They had transformed their machine into a firework powerhouse!

And with how fast it moved, it was able to provide a show from one island to another!

(Yoimiya) "Next festival, you're letting me ride with you! I want to see the work we've done up close!"

225 notes · View notes

saintship · 4 months

Note

okay just hear me out!! 13 but with tf141 wherein reader HATES physical touch like they’re completely repulsed by it but they know they can trust tf141, it’s just a matter of getting used to it and time. i’d imagine like it would be them slowly noticing it like if price pats reader on the shoulder for a job well done or if soap just surprise hugs reader from the back and in each scenario the reader freezes up 🤭 also it’s 1 am and i’ve been bingereading your work it’s so good 😭

Prompt #13 - "Take your time."

Thank you so much<3

I’ve struggled with touch aversion my whole life, and it can be upsetting at times so this is free therapy for me,

Hope you enjoy!

Reader & 141 - A little getting used to

Insert excuse to use this gif

The first time they learned of your aversion was at a loosely named ‘work party’, when Gaz had thrown back enough liquor to kill a small animal, Ghost had gathered a few empty pint glasses, and Price drank Soap under the table, literally, when he collapsed to the wooden floorboards of the bar.

You had quickly helped him to his feet and turned to return to your seat when he suddenly enveloped you in a drunken bear hug from behind you, nearly toppling the both of you over with his staggering balance.

You made a low noise of surprise before freezing in place, your hands held up awkwardly as Gaz hiccupped tears of laughter at the scene.

Soap had apologized profusely through the winces of his hangover the next morning, assured when you told him it wasn’t just him, it was touching. But when you were alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t help but recall how warm it felt, how he held you to him like you were something precious.

It wasn’t long after that night that the 141 had completed another operation, mingling conversation echoing throughout the hangar as they filed out of the jet. Your boots had just touched the concrete floor when you felt a Price’s gloved hand pat your shoulder twice, along with a gentle squeeze and a smile.

“Good work.”

Your rigid body made him retract, but you surprised him by laying your own hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks to the Captain..” You murmured with a nod.

What he took as a small gesture was an act that kept you up that night. It had always seemed like you would always hate touching in general; and you did, but it felt different when it was them.

Maybe it was because they never treated you like a child. Some thought your touch aversion was the result of something terrible, and wanted to talk to you like you were some kind of rescue. But on this team, in this job, they just didn’t care. And it felt good.

You and Ghost shared the same hesitance; he showed his love in different ways. Whether it be his humor, pulling you out of a tight situation in the field, or just staying up when neither of you could sleep because of the flashing images that played behind your eyes. So he was the one who surprised you the most.

The operation hadn’t been going well; there were more hidden explosives than they had prepared for, and the task force were clinging to the only truck that wasn’t shattered into a grotesque metal skeleton. The truck wasn’t meant to fit five bodies, and the uneven weight careened it into a small cluster of metal beams and half-walls that had collapsed from a singed building. The crash wasn’t overly harmful, Price hadn’t been going fast, but you were tossed into a pile of concrete rubble, disturbing a metal beam that fell on your upper arm, snapping the bone and pinning the limb underneath.

Your instinct to struggle only tore at the flesh and ligaments more, a white-hot clamp from your shoulder down. Your nerves spasmed and ricocheted, a fuzzy coating of needles trailing up from the smallest finger of your left hand.

You screamed in a way you likely never would again, your guttural cries of pain alerting Ghost. He knew what you sounded like when you were lacerated, or even shot; you would breathe through the groans, often treating it yourself despite his lecturing that would follow.

Now, there was no breath, no quiet murmurs of discomfort. There was only your screams. Not a high-pitched, piercing tone, but a cry, erupting from deep in your ribs, desperate and hollow.

Gaz was stuck as well, a chunk of concrete the size of a car toppled precariously near him and blocking any route of escape. Price and Soap ran to him while Ghost ran to you, an unspoken divvying of effort. Ghost knelt by you, his adrenaline momentarily halted by your grasping of his gloved hand.

“Please.. please help, please, please-"

You were sobbing from pain, but the beam was too heavy for Simon to lift on his own.

“You’re in shock, Sergeant. You need to keep breathing, you got that?” He spoke steadily, though his eyes darted from one part of your broken body to the next frantically.

“Hurts..”

You felt weak saying it. But that was all that was on your mind. The blinding, stabbing pain.

“I know..” Ghost seemed to murmur under his breath, as if the words escaped him involuntarily.

“Got him!” Soap’s voice rang clear as Price dragged Gaz free. Soap vaulted a pile of brick and cinder blocks, quickly assisting Ghost in lifting the beam off your broken arm. The absence of Ghost’s hand made your palm feel cold.

The pressure being released incited more pain. Your screams increased in severity before you were finally free, Soap discarding the beam roughly. You could see in his eyes he was out of his element. It was unlike you to scream or cry.

“We’ve got to set your arm, we’re too far from a hospital to leave it for later.” Ghost stated. You shook your head vehemently.

“No, no, no..”

“It’s alright, Sergeant..”

He sat behind you, holding your torso in his arms as your injured arm continued to swell.

“Look at the clouds. Don’t look at him.”

Soap had knelt beside you, preparing to set your joint. You obeyed, your eyes fixed on the hazy grey clouds that decorated the muted sky. The season being Autumn accompanied by the fact it was nearing sundown made the sky a gorgeous deep blue, stained with a grey overcoating.

“Just keep looking up..”

Soap set the joint in one fluid motion, and a choked cry escaped you, your flinching only held steady by the arms of a man you hardly even looked in the eye.

“Good.. good job..” Soap touched your knee gently, and any panic seemed to ebb, if only for a fleeting second. You could hear Price radioing for a medical evac through the pounding in your head. You would have slipped into the warm blanket of unconsciousness, had Ghost not been behind you. He had fully settled on the ground, at first to secure you, but now at will. For the first time in a long time, you felt arms around your middle and didn’t want to shrink away.

On the gurney, his gloved hand stayed on your shoulder.

In the helicopter, he held your body steady as the cabin shook during takeoff.

In the medical wing, his palm rested just at your ankle while you were treated.

Every so often, you glanced at his hand, the skeleton print of his gloves stained with grime and blood. And with the warmth of his palm, you figured the touch of someone else might not be as repulsive if it's someone like him.

#cod requests #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #story prompts #ask #requests #request

105 notes · View notes

warnersister · 1 year

Text

Show Me The Way Home, Honey

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Simpson!Reader

Summary: The men at top gun love a bit of sweetness, turn out a bit of helicopter honey was just the right amount.

Warnings: mentions of injury, head injury, parental death, angst, allusions to smut, fluff, parental fighting, plane crashes, it's a happy story i promise.

Flashbacks In Italics -> not my gif

All the aviators were gathering by the pool table, each wondering why their peers from years before surrounded them at the Hard Deck. Hangman had just taken a shot against Coyote before standing up, having recognised a familiar head of hair.

“Well if it ain’t Honey!” You stood at the bar, chatting with Penny while sipping on your second beer. You were famous at top gun, being Beau Simpson’s daughter after all. You were training at top gun around the same time as the rest of the pilots in the room, however flying the Air Ambulance and mountain rescue helicopters.

You turned around to the unforgettable voice, the face you were expecting stood before you, smirk adorning his tanned lips. “Hangman, you got old.” A few laughed at your remark but he just chuckled, pulling you into a hug as you embraced him tightly. “Didn’t expect to see you here, darlin’.” He hummed. “Could same the same for you, Jake.”

Your fame here in California wasn’t necessarily due to your father’s rankings, but the name you had made for yourself. It was your own decision to join the Navy, despite your fathers wishes to keep your feet safely planted on terrafirma - away from the dangers of the sky. But after almost a decade of your adamance and training, you were off, deployed on battleships or costal air bases - send to retrieve wounded or stranded fighter pilots when their missions had been unsuccessful.

God it must’ve been a decade since you’ve seen everyone, but these naval aviators couldn’t forget a face that easily - at least not yours.

You were 24, fresh from your required nursing training and now ready to earn your wings. You were accompanied by your father on your first day, getting a prologued lecture that you had yet to start paying attention too. “And watch out for those fast jet pilots. Don’t take no shit off of ‘em.” You raised a brow. “Why what’s wrong with fighter pilots?” You queries, your walk nearing to a close. “Long story short, the think with their dicks.” You scrunched your nose. “Jesus, dad couldn’t you have phrased that better?” He just shrugged and turned your shoulders to face him properly. “But I’m serious, if they try anything come tell me.” You nodded, a small smile on your lips. “Have a great day sweetie, I love you.” He kissed your forehead and gave you a big hug. “I’m starting pilot training, not kindergarten - I’ve been through two years of naval training and six of nursing.” You laughed, just still reciprocated. “I know, but your still my little girl, the only person I got.” Your mum died a while back, it still stung but you both knew you could always rely on the other. “I know, Cyclone.”

You started walking towards the hangar, but heard behind you “it’s admiral to you, lieutenant.” You shook your head, and headed for your first day - the first step into the rest of your life.

The hangar was decorated accordingly, at least ten sparkling and fresh F-18s sat, just waiting for their aviator to fly it. You continued walking, silently passing an ongoing lesson as you spotted your own adjacent to the helipad.

The clicking of boots was loud against the floor, echoing off of the metal of the hangar - the curious minds of the navy’s best fighters looking behind them to find the cause of the sound and god, they weren’t disappointed. There you walked, a stern look on your face, hair trailing gently as a slight breeze blew through the build, aviator glasses sitting atop of your head, and eyes glittering with adoration as you examined the aircraft.

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was one of those watching you, a low whistle exerted his lips. “What have we here?” As he said that, Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw lowered his glasses to get a better look than he was already getting. “Now she is mighty fine.” Hangman continued, but Rooster couldn’t say anything, the only thing leaving his mouth was a trail of drool - he wasn’t alone, quite a few of the trainees now distracted, rather than listening to their instructor.

There were three of you training to fly the copter. A girl called Darla and a boy named Simon were both in your shoes. Your first day you were taken for a ride by your own teacher, Hurricane.

You had heard a few of the students mention a nearby bar that was overly friendly to the top gun pilots, so you assumed it wouldn’t hurt giving it a once over that evening. “Penny?” You asked, and the bar hostess turned around at the sound of her name, eyes lighting up when she spotted you. “Oh my god I haven’t seen you since-” She trailed off when she ran over to hug you. “My mum passed, yeah… been off training I’m officially an aviator now.” She raised her brows. “Beau Simpson allowed his daughter to join the navy?” “Not really, but not got much’ve of a say in it now!” You laughed. “Make sure those fast jet pilots keep it in her pants.” She raised her brows. “Damn are they really that bad? Thought my dad was just being dramatic.”

Penny swung back around the busting bar and asked what she could get you. “Just a beer, please.” “Coming up, sweetie!”

You took your drink and headed to the juke box, opting for ‘you've lost that loving feeling’ by The Righteous Brothers. You always loved that song, your dad playing it you when he spoke about when he himself was a top gun graduate. “You lost that lovin’ feeling, sugar?” You heard from beside you. There stood a tanned man, broad shoulders and toned arms that he was definitely flexing, a Hawaiian shirt and a pair of aviators to accompany the moon beyond the windows. “Ain’t lost it just yet.” You replied, taking a drink from your glass. “Names Bradshaw, call sign Rooster.” He offered his hand. “Simpson, call sign Honey.” You took it but instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips and kissed it gently. “Mhm, sweet light honey, I get the name.” You laughed at the man. “Good to meet you, Bradshaw.” “Whatcha flying?” He asked. “How’d you know I’m flying?” “Saw ya in the hangar.” “Stalking me now?” “Always been drawn to the gorgeous ones.”

You eyed him, before replying. “Helicopters. I’m a nurse, you?” “F-18s, honey.” These were the ones you were warned about, the fighter pilots. But still, you were your fathers daughter - never one for really listening to instructions. “Using my call sign now? Could've at least bought me a drink first.” “Ain’t a call sign more like an observation. PENNY! ANOTHER FOR THIS MIGHTY FINE GAL, PLEASE!”

“How ya been?” He leant his arm against the bar, trapping you slightly. “I’m good hangman, I’m very good, you?” He chuckled and hummed in agreement.

you had been a member of top gun for a few weeks now, and you were enduring a PT session, courtesy of Hurricane. "Up, down." Push ups were gruelling after a full day of strength training, you'd been training so long even some of the fighters were calling it a day. through your peripheral you noticed someone perch beside you and you could only guess who it was when they started doing push ups at double the rate that you were going. "Give it up, Hangman." you huffed, pushing yourself down again. "Come on honey, double time!" and he nudged his hip against your own, sending you off balance. "JAKE! FOR GODS SAKE!" you groaned, keeling over and hitting him.

"Stay away from my pilots, jet boy." Hurricane grunted. "You're dismissed Honey, great work today." "Thank you, captain." Hangman offered his hand once you had gotten your breath back and you took it, heaving you up. he pulled you so close that your chest smashed against his. "Woah if you wanted to kiss you, just had to say darlin' after all, you're looking mighty fine." You rolled your eyes and pushed him off - "In your dreams, Seresin." "You're certainly in my dreams." He slung an arm around your shoulder and winked at you, escorting you to the showers before he had to leave you.

"You finally shake off the leach?" A woman also in the showers asked, a sarcastic smile on her lips. "Only thing stopping him was the female sign on the door." You replied and both shared a laugh, "Phoenix, you must be the famous Honey." "That's my name," You grinned. "You gonna be down at the Hard Deck tonight?" You thought for a moment. "Sure, see you there."

"Well how-howdy little, lil lady!" A voice exclaimed from behind you and you spun around at the voice. A little boy wearing a small pair of western boots, belt wrapped around his waist about three times to hold up the flared jeans he was wearing, vest and a pink Hawaiian shirt hanging open. He tipped his cattleman hat, and lowered his aviator glasses that were about a hundred sizes too big for him, almost falling off of his nose when he moved to rest his hands sassily on his hips. You knelt in front of the boy and gasped, raising your hand and fluttering your eyelashes as you feigned flattery. "Well hello handsome, don't you look nice?" He dropped his facade and giggled, stomping his little feet. you grabbed the boy as you stood up and sat him on the bar, keeping your hands on his waist so he didn't fall.

Hangman cleared his throat. "Who's this?"

you were stood at the pool table playing against Coyote while he was actively trying to flirt with you, just humming when he was bragging about some trip himself and hangman had managed to pull off on their flight today, before you were saved by Phoenix brining you a drink over. 'Life saver' you had mouthed to her, and she just nodded with a wink, pulling you away when you had won the game, Coyote much too busy trying to swoon you to realise the eight ball had already been played. "Hey, darlin'!" You turned to see Rooster, smirk adorning his face as he approached you. "Hey Brad," he began to engage in conversation before everyone's attention was drawn to where Penny's voice directed. "Beau, didn't think I'd see you anytime soon!" He laughed and hugged her, "Still human Pen, just getting better pay." All top gun members throats went dry, their relaxed evening seemingly turning into a drill session within seconds. he looked at the group and waved you over with a smile, everyone's jaws hanging open when he pecked your forehead and started up talk. "Hey dad!"

"Holy shit." Payback groaned. "Simpson, of course." Bradley said. "Well, you know what they say - get the father to like ya, get the daughter." Hangman said as he began approaching the two of you. "No one fucking says that, Bagman." Phoenix remarked, but he was away before he could be stopped.

"Admiral!" Hangman laid a hand on your shoulder and grinned at his superior, your fathers eyebrows shooting up as he looked between the two of you. you did a small eyeroll before shrugging the hand off of your shoulder and looked on, amused as he tried to sweettalk your dad.

you were soon distracted, though by a sweet tune emitting from the bar's ancient piano. you looked to see Bradley playing the starting chords to an infamous Jerry Lee Lewis song and you ran along to join him, pushing across the bench with your hip to simultaneously sing.

"GOODNESS, GRACIOUS, GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!"

"What'd I tell you about fighter pilots? They're bad news." Your father grumbled under his breath as he drove you back to your temporary home. "They mean well." you hummed, but turned your head against the head rest to look at him. "I'm also not stupid- humouring Hangman is just funny." There was silence for a moment. "What about Rooster?" "What about him?" "I've seen those eyes he looks at you with." "What eyes, dad?" You scoffed with a laugh. "You know, those ones." You turned back to face the darkened road. "They're the only eyes he's got."

Before you could respond to Hangman, the boy groaned loudly. "Mama, I'm thirsty!" He thumped his boot against the bar slightly with a pout at those quivering lips. "Hey, what'd I tell you about stomping?" You hummed, tone gettng sterner. "Don't stomp the foot unless i want a boot in the but." He giggled at the final word. You smiled at him, glad he listened to you at his little tantrums. "You're just like your daddy." You rolled your eyes. "Now what can i get my little cowboy to drink?" "Orange juice please, mama!"

"Mama?!"

After thirty weeks of aggressive training, you had finally been out on several 'dummy' rescue missions. "So today, pilots we'll be focusing on-" The siren which had laid dormant since you arrived at top gun started bleating loudly with an iterative red beacon, accompanied by a female voice overing the neighbouring intercom. "Requested: lieutenant Simpson, Honey, lieutenant Pierce, bear, lieutenant Shirley, Temple, two F-18 fighter jets down at Toro Canyon Park, immediate medical backup required." The Captain looked at you guys. "Show time pilots, show me what you've got." And before you knew it, you were in the air and navigating your way towards the billowing smoke. You landed just off of the treeline, and managed to find the wreckages rather quickly - but it wasn't the planes you were concerned about, it was the pilots.

Two parachutes 100 feet away from one another, seemig like a collision below the allowed guidelines, you were guessing a mock dog-fight, "I've got this one." You ran towards one of the victims and your peers headed to the other, each carrying your medical bag.

you peeled to parachute away from them, and gasped when you saw a knocked out Rooster laying motionless on the grass. "Bradley!" You shook his shoulders, seeing no signs of response so moving him into the recovery position. After checking there was no obvious nor outstanding damage to his head, you removed his helmet to see a nasty gash bleeding right above where his helmet had cracked. "Brad," You kept talking, attempting to make him conscious. "Stay with me, Bradley." you began to apply pressure to where the bleed was, making a make-shift bandage covering the top of his skull until you could get him back to base.

"Hey Honey" you heard his voice rasp as he attempted to raise to his elbows but you pushed him back down. "Hi Roo, just gotta stay there for me, got a nasty gash on your head here." You explained, resting his head against the ground. "You're fuckin' gorgeous." He giggle, looking at your eyes with a dreamily-dazed expression. "Okay, Brad seems like a concussion." "No, no, you're the prettiest woman I've ever seen, wanna marry ya." He continued to blurt out. you tried to ignore the fluttering of butterflies in your gut, just shaking your head. "You don't know what you're sayin' Brad, just gotta stay still for me." You secured a neck brace. "No i know what i'm saying, i wanna take you out and propose and fuck ya so hard that you scream, then ill make love to ya so we have our own little Bradshaw-" He continued to mumble. you breath faltered and your heart skipped a beat at the thought. "There you go, Bradley. Ready to get you home." You secured him as Temple came over to help you, heaving up the other end of the stretched, and moving back to the helicopter, Bradley shutting his eyes in the meantime.

"Who was the other?" You asked. "Hangman" she replied with a scoff mixed with a laugh as you joined her. "Shocker. He injered too?" You asked and she shook her head no. "Was sat up awake when we got to him, damaged ego but nothing else - still taking him to medical to get a once over though." You nodded in response, giving the thumbs up Bear when Rooster was secured. Hangman took a sip of his complementary water, "Hey, Honey" You nodded. "Hangman" "What's up with Bradshaw?" "Concussion, head trauma, need to get back to medical to confirm anything else." he leant forward and placed a hand on the centre of your back and surveyed Rooster. "Back off, Hangman." He raised his hands with a chuckle, before moving backwards and allowing you to work.

You'd worked some overtime that day to wait with Bradley and make sure he could get discharged that evening so that's why you were sat beside him, having just replaced his glucose drip feeding into his arm. The clocked ticked over to eight but you didn't mind, you were move than happy to watch the sunset outside of the window in silence, especially beside Bradley - even if he's knocked out cold.

A sudden cough withdrew you from your thoughts as Rooster's eyes fluttered open. "Hey, sweetheart." "Don't you dare sit up." You warned with a glare, noticing the way his arms shifted below him and he relaxed again with a small smile. "Now this is a view I could wake up to everyday." He said. "Yeah, the sunset's beautiful-" "No, I mean you, I could wake up to you everyday." He spoke softly and cut you off, looking at you with a gentle stare.

"How are you feeling?" You ignored his statement. "I'm okay, seriously, just a bit tired." You smiled. "I stitched up your head, so no flying because you also suffered a concussion-" "I meant what I said." You stopped talking and gave him a questioning expression. "I'm in love with you." "Bradley-" He reached up and kissed you softly and you relaxed into it. "You been growing a moustache, Bradshaw?" "Do y' like it?" You hummed as you nodded. "Good 'cause it's stayin'."

"Yes, I'm his mom, aren't I baby?" You pinched his cheek and asked Penny for an OJ "Oh my! I didn't realise there was a big scary cowboy in my bar, here's your juice box, sir." Penny curtseyed at your son. "Much obly-obul- oby-lysed obliged, ma'am" He smiled, blowing bubbled into the carton through the small straw.

"Who's his dad-" "Nick! Buddy, what'd I tell ya about running from the truck!?" voice bellowed from the doorway, you turned to your husband, who's eyes softened at the sight of you when he removed the aviator glasses from his face. He walked over and grabbed you waist, pulling you flush against his body and leaning down you kiss you lovingly. "Oh I get it, you saw a mighty fine lady and decided she was more important than sticking with your poor old dad, I get it." He said to your son, nipping at your neck with his teeth.

Hangman gritted his teeth and forced a smile and acknowledged you husband, "Rooster."

You spent the next three months sneaking around with Bradley, hidden winks, ghost-like touches, stolen kisses, and honestly a few on-base fucks. All secret until one day your dad had decided to visit your medical station, where you were laid on the bed against Bradley's shoulder while he left kisses in your hair and drew shapes on your hips. "Hey hon-" You father walked in and the two of you immediately jumped off of one another. He froze in the doorway, "What the fuck!" He about-turned on his heels, slamming the door shut behind him before storming off. "Oh god-" You stood up, but was pulled back by Bradley. "He was gonna find out eventually," "He's gonna disown me, Brad-" You had never seen you father that mad before.

"Bradshaw." The group heard from behind their lesson. "Admiral," Rooster turned to see him, and the group hollered like a group of school-kids teasing the man as he was lead away from the hangar and towards Admiral Simpson's office. They sat in silence momentarily, Cyclone staring out of the window and taking deep breaths, assumingly trying to calm himself.

"What're you playin' at, Bradshaw?" He asked after a while. "Excuse me, sir?" He turned towards Bradley - crossing his arms over his chest. "My daughter, seriously?! My only fucking daughter?" His tone of voice rose with every syllable. "With all due respect, sir-" "No, you do not get to talk. My daughter if the only thing I have in life and the only thing I can really protect her from now she joined the navy is scum like you." "Scum?" "You fast-jet pilots are all the same. Can't keep your dicks in your pants, well I'm telling you now - you stay the fuck away from her-" Bradley cut him off. "If I'm not mistaken, you were once, too a fast-jet pilot and that means you lived up to your own assumptions, and I know she's the only one you got because your wifes's gone," "Shut your mouth Rooster, and listen-" "No-" Rooster stood up, his chair being shoved abck against the wall behind him. "You listen. We may not've been together that long, but I fucking love her and I wanna marry her whether you like it or not, maybe you should look at yourself as a fahter, she's been stayin' with me, balling her eyes out for the past week 'cause the only person she's got left ignores her calls and pretty much disowns her! That's your fuckin' problem, now if you dont mind, Admiral, I'm goin' home to the love of my fuckin' life and you have absolutely no authority to stop me." Bradley spat with venom, slamming the door shut behind him and heading home to you.

Cyclone gained a lot of respect for Rooster, that day.

"Hello," Your dad walked into the hangar where you were with Bradley and the two of yours conversation end quickly as you look towards your father with a blank and unreadable expression. "Sweetheart I'm so sorry," "I don't want your apologies, dad." You grunted. "Want me to leave, hon?" Bradley asked, but your father answered him instead "no, i need you here too." "Look since your mom died your the only thing I have I'd live in rags on the street if it meant you were happy, i couldn't stop you joining the navy and i was so scared, what if something happened to you? And i knew from working here for nearly a decade what the aviator reputation was. When i saw you with Rooster i felt I'd failed the last part of you i could protect. but i know, you're not a little girl anymore and I shouldn't have reacted that way, I'm sorry."

You said nothing, but stood up and hugged him tightly, tears apparent in your eyes. "It's alright, sorry for going against your wishes." You reciprocated, "You are a Simpson after all." You both laughed, and your father held out an arm. "Come on Bradshaw, I can deal with you as a son-in-law, I guess."

"Bagman." You husband nodded, mouth pursing into a thin line. "He yours?" Bradley grinned, cockily. "He sure as hell is, aint ya, Nick?" "Yeah, dad!" The boy giggled.

"Er, I think Coyotes callin' me." And he walked away, to absolutely no one as Bradley chuckled victoriously and snaked his arms around you. "You scared him off, Brad." "Good, shouldn't even be lookin' at ya, you're all mine." He pecked your cheek, pulling yourself and your son along with you, and towards the piano, still sat in its spot in the Hard Deck.

It was graduation day, all the top gun graduated gathered to celebrate, Bradley raising his trophy above his head smugly, showing it off to his fellow pilots and the accompanying civillians.

"Bradshaw, congrats on getting top gun." Cyclone approached him. "Thank you, Admiral." He thought for a moment. "Can I have your blessing?" Cyclone looked at him, confused. "Can I marry her?" He was nervously sweating, gulping on his saliva and pulling at the collar on his neck. Your father immediately smiles and shook Bradley's hand. "Of course you can."

Your wedding day was like no other, a runway close to the ocean, a flyover from Phoenix and a few others from Top Gun, your dress was gorgeous, Bradley cried as you walked down the isle, when your father gave you away, when you said your vows, he never stopped crying. God, he was over the moon happy. "I love you, Honey." "I love you, Rooster."

even your honey moon was pure bliss, although the resort was gorgeous you hardly left the hotel room, Bradley too busy fucking you into the sheets and trying to put a baby to you just like he had promised when you had recovered him from that botched training exercise.

Now here you were, perched on the leg of your husband, your four year old son singing along to the tune as Bradley sang to him, playing the piano simultanous to circling your waist.

"GOODNESS, GRACIOUS, GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!"

and Nick had called it a night, you and Bradley said goodbyes to your friends at the bar who had also been called back to top gun, you saying goodbye to Maverick when your husband wasn't looking, you headed to the truck. "How about we get home and I fuck another baby into ya'?" Bradley asked against your lips, between desperate kisses. "Take me to bed or loose me forever, Rooster." "Show me the way home, Honey."

And the men all stood there in silence, sickened to their stomachs, their sweet Honey stolen away by no other than Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw. Damn.

#bradley #bradshaw #rooster #bradleybradshaw #roosterxreader #smut #bradly bradshaw x reader #topgun #topgunmaverick #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader #one shot

650 notes · View notes

multi-fan-dom-madness · 7 months

Note

Hi!

For the prompt requests...I'm thinking "I'm sorry, I had to" with Hound maybe 👀 or Cody as an alternative ❤️

hello roz my dear. thank you for this prompt!! I wanted desperately to write for Hound for this, but Cody came in and said "nope, this one's mine" so here we are. hope you enjoy!

First Kiss - Cody

Summary: You're injured. Cody can't risk losing you without telling you how he feels.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, angst, fluff, confessions

Word Count: 1k

dividers by: me, @saradika, and @dystopicjumpsuit in that order <3

As a starship technician, you don’t often travel to the frontlines. You support your boys in yellow from the Negotiator, repairing the clones’ gunships, the Jedis’ hyperdrive rings, and other engineering tasks that sometimes fall through the cracks. While you’d technically been combat trained when you enlisted with the GAR, that had been ages ago. You’ve never had a need to brush up on your skills. In effect, the GAR viewed you as a civilian engineer, not as a soldier, and so didn’t feel the need to press your training.

Maybe they should have.

Because while you don’t go to the frontlines, today the frontline has come to you.

Explosions rock the Negotiator. Tremors rumble up through the durasteel floor into your body, already panicked as it is, as you pelt full-tilt down a side corridor. Your blaster is clutched in sweaty palms. You need to reach the hangar bay. You’ve been working on some modifications to the gunships to make them quieter, stealthier, more efficient—if that data is destroyed or, even worse, stolen, several months of your work goes down the drain. You may even be fired if the Separatists use the data against the clone army.

But in reality, that’s not what you’re worried about. No, you’re worried about Cody. You know him; he’s out there at the front right now, leading his men by example. It’s part of the reason you fell for him in the first place. He cares for his men—and in the end, that depth of emotion may be his downfall. Kark, you should have told him how you feel.

You sprint past dozens of troopers running in the opposite direction. As you near the hangar, one of the men stops you, yanking you to a halt.

“Hangar’s compromised!” he shouts over the blaring klaxon. “Come with us! Commander’s orders!”

That gives you pause. Meeting the helmeted gaze of the trooper with wide eyes, you flounder for a moment. Another explosion shakes the ship. You stumble, the trooper’s grasp the only thing keeping you upright.

“Where’s the Commander?” you shout.

His hesitation tells you all you need to know. Pulling yourself out of the trooper’s grip, you continue on your mad dash to the hangar, its state of damage be damned. Thankfully, none of the rest of the men stop you, and at last, you reach the hangar entrance.

The entire space is engulfed in an inferno. Heat snarls at you as the door opens, before the metal screeches to a halt halfway, jammed. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, you step over the threshold.

You practically live in this hangar. You know exactly where your workstation is, how to get to it, where everything is within your toolbox. This is a space you could walk through in your sleep—yet as you squint against the sting of smoke and dodge flames that seem to leap at you, panic begins to build in your chest in earnest. Because Cody is somewhere in all this carnage, too. You can’t save both your work and your commander.

You couldn’t live with yourself if you let him die.

Your lungs scream for air. With a terrified whimper, you gulp in a deep lungful. Immediately you begin to cough, the smoke burning into your body. Turning in a circle, you attempt to squint through the smoke. The heat grows by the minute and becomes increasingly oppressive. Your knees feel weak. But still you stagger forward. Blind and lost, you cry with a cracked voice for Cody.

You trip. Knees crack against the floor. Hacking, you peer through the smoke with watering eyes. Is that a person coming toward you?

As your vision goes dark, the last thing you see is a pair of hands reaching for you and a familiar golden visor.

When you wake, you’re in the medbay. You can tell before you even open your eyes, just based on the sterile scent of antiseptic tickling your nose, and the hushed, rhythmic beeping of several medical devices.

Eyes fluttering open, you squint against the bright white light reflecting off equally bright white walls. It hurts to breathe, but as you take silent stock of your body, nothing seems dangerously injured. No casts, no splints. Just a few bandages over what you assume are burns.

“Cyare,” a familiar voice says, full of relief.

You turn and meet Cody’s eyes. He looks like shit. Dark circles under his eyes, a long-dried bloody split in his lip, soot and ash coating his normally pristine armor. He sits next to you on a small stool, his elbows resting on his knees, one of his feet bouncing incessantly. But his worried expression melts into something calmer, softer as he takes in your conscious form.

He half-stands, brushing his fingers over your forehead gently, and then leans down. Though logically you know what’s about to happen it’s still a surprise when his lips meet yours in a soft, chaste kiss. You press your face up to his, meeting him, and you both hold there for a moment before he pulls away with a shuddering breath.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, hand sliding down to grasp yours, “I had to. You scared me.”

“M’sorry,” you mumble, mind hazy with his kiss. Your tongue is thick and dry. Nearby, one of the medical devices jumps in its rhythm, the beeps coming faster.

He lowers back onto the stool. “What were you thinking?”

Grimacing, you drop your gaze. “It’s stupid.”

“Tell me,” he says, voice soft and kind.

“I was thinking about you,” you admit in a whisper.

His amber eyes widen in surprise. “Cyare.”

“Told you it’s dumb.”

Shaking his head, he huffs an incredulous chuckle. He inhales deeply, runs a hand through his dirty hair, and fixes you with a look so fond that your heart squeezes.

“I love you, you know,” he says.

The medical device goes crazy now, matching the way your heart stutters in your chest. “I- I love you, too.”

The smile he gives you makes all the pain, all the panic, worth it.

Liste de Ragu: @the-hexfiles @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @thorsterstrudle @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @dreamie411 @bobaprint @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl if your name has a strikethrough, I can't tag you so check your settings! (if you'd like to be added or removed, click here!)

#commander cody x reader #cody x reader #the clone wars #tcw cody x reader #rhiplies #rhiwrites #first kiss prompts

122 notes · View notes

justsescape · 30 days

Note

Can a cow be too fat?

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOURP!!"

Nyx had become a proverbial mountain of fat; her body filled the capacity of an airplane hangar. Rolling waves of skin resembled the dimples and folds of raw pancake batter as they piled themselves atop the concrete. Breasts -- each large enough to rival entire biplanes -- lurched themselves over the only thing bigger than them: her gut. Its rumbling was like thunder. Perhaps she had buried a couple of buildings underneath its weight.

"BWOOOOOOUUUURRRRRRRP-HYIUCK!" Nyx's head emerged from her body the same way someone's would if they were buried in sand at the beach. Every gaseous expulsion left the flabby flesh surrounding it rippling like a pond. "HIC! HIC-URP-HIC!"

Lips, dripping with drool, opened and closed rhythmically almost as if she was chewing gum -- not that she was chewing anything at all. At least, not yet. Her dull, hazy gaze craned upward toward a distant feeding tube connected to the ceiling. Unable to lift her tree-trunk arms, all Nyx could do to vocalize her appetite was belch, hiccup, or moo. Sometimes, all three at once.

"MoooOOUHOUROKUOOOOORP!!!"

The call was heard. The pipe descended. Nyx's gaping mouth wrapped thoughtlessly around it. Gulp... gulp... gulp... Drooping nipples lazily produced milk that ran like little streams down the folds of her lard-laden body. Her fat had long since found its way into her lactation: it wasn't so much milk that she was making as much as it was heavy cream. It clumped up in the countless crevices that wrapped around her entire gluttonous frame.

From Nyx's limited perspective, the world was but a pale, endless horizon of lard below, and a cold, metal ceiling above. The feeding tube delivered euphoric sensations. It was her escape. The bigger she grew, the more she pressed into the walls. The more she pressed into the walls, the less they could do to confine her. The less confined she was, the more she could grow. The cycle repeated. Fat was freedom.

Nyx swelled like a balloon connected to a garden hose.

#guest muse: nyx #ic ask response #weight gain #slob #substantial-gains #uh the answer is no lol #anonymous

37 notes · View notes

trulybetty · 9 months

Text

Hangar | Frankie Morales x f!Reader

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (no use of Y/N) Word Count: 2,542 Warnings: No real warnings, mentions of aircraft, a make-out session and a fade to black - but that's about it Summary: Frankie has finally extended an invitation to come take a tour of his base. There's a possibility he may have ulterior motives though for bringing you there. AO3: Linked

A/N: Disclaimer, I tried to write smut but the logistics (you'll see) were giving me a headache and that was a Google deep dive I wasn't ready to go down. Lol, so this is a happy medium?

Edit: 08/28 - amended a part that was not inclusive to all readers.

Hangar.

The evening air clung to you both, it was damp still from the day’s rain. Even though the afternoon had brought sun, it had done little to chase off the lingering chill that signalled fall was on its way and that hung around the military base you were being led around. However, the cold was the last thing on your mind; your attention was entirely on Frankie, his hand enveloped around yours, fingers tightly interlaced.

It had always been Frankie coming to you in Seattle on the rare weekends he wasn't tied up in military obligations. This time was different, though. Frankie had invited you down to Pierce County, with the promise of a private tour of McChord Field.

As you walked around the base, Frankie eagerly pointed out various areas that he had grown familiar with in his brief time stationed there. It was clear he enjoyed what he did, you could see it in his enthusiasm that was breaking free from the initial facade of nonchalance he'd tried to maintain since you'd agreed to make the trip down to see him.

One thing you had learnt about the quiet and laid-back persona that made up in part the man beside you. Was that when he was really enthusiastic about something he spoke with his hands. Despite one of them holding onto yours, his free hand moved around passionately to emphasize what he was saying.

“Are we supposed to be here?” you asked, peering around nervously as Frankie walked you around the large brick building to the expansive hangar now only mere feet away.

He had a mischievous look on his face that was really making you question the legal boundaries of your little adventure.

Frankie grinned as he rolled his eyes theatrically. “Of course not, hence the 'I need you to be quiet and keep close' part before we got here.”

“Okay, smartass,” you retorted with your own roll of your eyes.

“Just through here,” Frankie said, pulling you toward a set of thick heavy steel doors. He swiped his key fob; the forbidding red light turned green, and there was an audible click of a lock undoing, permitting you both entry.

The door to the hangar opened with a creak, and you both stepped into the darkness. The door closed with a thud that echoed through the vast space you couldn't yet see. Frankie let go of your hand and you lost him to the darkness.

“Frankie,” you hissed, the darkness blinding you from even being able to see the door you'd just walked through.

“Give me a moment,” you heard him say from somewhere to the left of you.

It was quiet for a moment before the room was flooded with light, rows and rows of industrial lights turned on chasing one after the other revealing row upon row of helicopters and various other aircraft that filled the expansive space. There was a distinctive tangy scent of motor oil and cold metal that filled the air.

As Frankie flicked on the last row of light switches, casting the hangar into a brilliant glow, he stepped back, his smile inviting. Seeing the array of parked aircraft before you, you laced your fingers with his outstretched hand once more. “Here we are,” he said, his voice tinged with excitement.

You continued to look around, admiring the majestic beauty of the warehouse. You couldn't help but feel awed at the sheer scale of it all.

“Wow,” you breathed out trying to take it all in.

None of this had been your expectation when he’d said he was going to show you around the base. Truth be told, you were four months into whatever this fling was, and his evasiveness around his career had led you to possibly question if Cat’s initial statement had been right. That maybe he really was an in-the-flesh catfish.

“So you've flown in all of these?” you asked, your gaze shifting from one formidable machine to another.

“Most of them,” Frankie answered, his voice tinged with a pride that he was no longer trying to hide.

“Jesus, this is definitely something,” you muttered, trying to comprehend the magnitude of his experience encapsulated in this one hangar.

“Impressive, isn't it.” It wasn’t a question, more a statement. However, you missed that when he said it he wasn’t looking at the enormity of the surroundings you were taking in, he was looking at you.

He walked you further into the hangar, his boots echoing softly on the floor. You passed under the wings of various aircraft, their mechanical intricacies exposed. Frankie would occasionally stop to point out features of different models, explaining their capabilities with a level of detail that made you realize how much he loved his job. When he described a particularly complex maneuver he’d done, his hands took on a life of their own again, tracing invisible pathways in the air. His eyes sparkled in a way that you’d never seen before—his barriers momentarily down, revealing a childlike enthusiasm for flight.

“How many bases have you been stationed at?” you asked, pulling yourself away from the spectacle to focus on him. Wondering how many times he'd been through introductions and farewells.

He shrugged, his eyes lingering momentarily on a particularly imposing aircraft before returning to you. “Honestly, I kinda gave up counting. Will would know, he’s been through most of them at the same time as me. The guy should have been in finance with his knowledge of numbers.”

“So, are you going to show me the rest?” you asked, teasingly, yet eager to continue the tour.

Frankie chuckled at your enthusiasm, and the two of you continued down the rows of aircraft. However, as you walked, you felt him stealing glances in your direction, and you knew that spending any more time with him would only make it harder for you when he inevitably left for his next deployment or posting. However, you pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand: exploring the base with Frankie so you changed the topic.

“So, how many girls have you brought around to your barracks?” you asked, unable to keep your curiosity and to see what kind of reaction you would get.

His face flushed a little, a crooked grin appearing. “What makes you think I have?”

“Frankie, you're not smooth enough to pull that kind of lie off,” you countered with a playful grin.

He shook his head, “Busted,” he admitted, his laughter mingling with yours in the cavernous hangar.

“So, a few then?”

“A few,” he admitted, his smile not waning.

“And did it work?” you prodded.

He looked at you, genuinely intrigued despite a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Did what work?”

You turned around and raised an eyebrow at him, letting the smile play on your lips. “Francisco Morales, I may not be as smart as you book-wise, but I can sense a play a mile off.”

Frankie's smirk widened. “Oh, really? So what’s the play?”

“You tell me you have something special to show me,” you started, ticking off your points on your fingers. “You say it’s on base where you’re not supposed to be but conveniently have full access. You even told me to wear a dress for the occasion. And now you have a ridiculous grin on your face which tells me that I'm right.”

His eyes twinkled, the mischievous glint now more pronounced. “So, did it work?”

You stepped closer, so close that you could feel the warmth emanating from him, could smell the blend of aftershave and engine oil that seemed to be his personal scent. “You tell me, Ace.”

Frankie chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief as they met yours. “Well, considering you're here and you're smiling, I'd say it worked pretty well.”

His fingers gently grazed the small of your back as he led you on. The walls seemed to stretch upwards forever, the lights casting large looming shadows. Rows of helicopters, their blades motionless for the night, shared space with intimidating transport planes and even a few small fighter jets. Equipment and machinery were neatly placed in specific zones, awaiting their use for the next day’s maintenance.

Your tour continued until you realized you were in a more secluded corner of the hangar. And there it was, a smaller helicopter, sleek and polished as if it had been waiting just for you.

“So, this is one of my personal favourites,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as if sharing a secret. “It's not as big or as loud as the others, but sometimes you need a bit of grace among the beasts.”

You grinned at him. “A poet and a pilot? I'm getting more than I bargained for.”

“Well, I try to be a man of many talents,” he said with a wink.

“So, this is a tried and tested maneuver out of the Morales playbook then?” you asked, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

Frankie's grin softened into a more subdued smile in response, the tension between you electric but comfortable. “Well, there’s really no playbook anymore,” he admitted sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck, “but that was when I was much younger…” he trailed off with a knowing grin, “You know, fresh-faced Frankie thinking he literally was Maverick.”

You laughed at the image that conjured up, imagining a younger version of Frankie swaggering around in a flight suit, brimming with youthful arrogance. “Breaking hearts left and right?”

“Maybe, younger Frankie was questionable at best,” he admitted, his eyes still fixed on you as he closed the distance between the two of you. His lips met yours, softly at first, but gaining in intensity with each passing second.

His mouth moved skillfully over yours, as each kiss deepened his hands traced lines down your sides, and you felt your own fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as if anchoring yourself to both the moment and to him.

The chill of the hangar was forgotten, replaced by a warmth that spread from your intertwined lips to fill your entire being. Frankie's mouth moved hungrily against yours as if he was trying to make up for all the time he knew he wouldn't have with you once he was moved onto the next military base or the next deployment.

Before you knew it, he had maneuvered you back against the metallic side of the helicopter he’d brought you to. Its cold surface was in sharp contrast to his warm body as he pressed against you. You heard a soft chuckle escape him when he broke away, just enough for a breath and a sentence. “To be transparent, this had not been a part of the plan inviting you down here.”

Your eyes met his, both of you breathing a bit more heavily than the conversation warranted. “Oh, no? Not sure I buy that. So this isn’t about fulfilling some kind of pilot fantasy? Getting off on making out in an airplane hangar, surrounded by millions of dollars worth of military equipment?”

He laughed a rich sound that echoed in the cavernous space. “Well, if it is, you just made it ten times better.”

Frankie leaned in, his lips finding yours again. His hands roamed along your sides, sending shivers through your body. You felt his fingers grip the fabric of your dress, pulling you even closer as the intensity between you grew.

“You know,” you said, pulling away slightly, a teasing lilt to your voice, “this being a 'fling,' you're setting the bar awfully high for any future casual romances.”

Frankie grinned, and his eyes twinkled. “Well, we might as well make it unforgettable, then.”

You couldn't help but smile at his reply, your heart fluttering with a mixture of emotions. Frankie's hands slid down from your sides to your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, your dress hitching up your thighs in the process.

His lips crashed onto yours again, hungrily devouring you as a primal need for each other consumed you. You didn't care about tomorrow, where Frankie would be sent next or how much time you had left with him. All that mattered was this moment, this heated exchange that sent fireworks through your veins.

“You're so beautiful,” he said between kisses, his fingers tracing patterns over the curve of your waist. “I can't get enough of you.”

The friction between your bodies made your head spin as your hands tangled in his hair. Frankie's lips travelled down your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses that sent shivers down your spine. He nipped at the sensitive skin just below your ear, eliciting a gasp from you.

“Frankie…” you whispered, the name tasting like honey on your lips.

“Yes?” responded before he ran his tongue over the shell of your ear, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. You felt his lips curl into a knowing smile at the reaction, his hands continuing to explore every inch of you.

Your hips bucked against his, and in return, he pushed back against you the pressure producing a luxurious heat that spread throughout. Frankie's hand found your thigh, his fingers moving deftly under your dress and you couldn't help but smirk in admiration at his audacity. Regardless of what he said, it was clear that he had been planning this move all along. His lips were still on yours, his fingers traced circles on the delicate skin of your thigh moving higher and higher building the anticipation that was beginning to knot in the pit of your stomach looking for release.

You laughed, slightly out of breath as Frankie's fingers reached the peak of your thighs. “Is it still considered a part of the mile-high club even if the flight doesn't take off?”

His lips trailed down the curve of your neck and backed up over your jaw, leaving delicious traces of warmth wherever they touched. “I'm sure we can make an exception,” His lips brushed against your ear again and you felt your knees begin to tremble from the sheer intensity of him.

Your hands moved from his hair, down his neck and along his muscular shoulders. You felt him tense at the contact, a thrill racing through you as you explored his body in kind. You sighed in pleasure as the hand that wasn’t moving dangerously close to the hem of your underwear, found its way to the nape of your neck. His fingers a welcome warmth against the chill as he pulled you closer.

“We should probably leave before someone catches us,” you said, his breath was hot against your skin, and you were having a hard time focusing.

“It's the middle of the night Mav, there's no one around but us.”

“But what if–”

“Trust me, no one is coming here.”

You couldn't help but laugh, leaning back as you looked into his eyes. “Is that a challenge Frankie?” you asked, a mischievous glint now in your eyes.

Frankie looked puzzled for a moment before the double entendre of what you'd said hit him, his eyes widening slightly before a wide grin spread across his face. He leaned in and pressed his forehead against yours, “You know what, maybe it is.”

#frankie morales/f!reader #frankie morales/you #frankie morales/reader #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #triple frontier fanfiction

120 notes · View notes

coastalsteelstructures · 3 months

Text

How to Focus on Your Customer Through Commercial Building Production

Embracing customer-centric strategies, the commercial and industrial sectors prioritize transparent relations. This approach, valued for its simplicity and adaptability, requires no additional tools or major adjustments. Riding Arena hinges on keen observation of customer feedback and their unique needs. Moreover, modern commercial construction trends favor eco-friendly solutions, with Prefabricated Commercial Steel Buildings gaining traction as a sustainable choice.

Know more: https://coastalsteelstructures.com/how-to-focus-on-your-customer-through-commercial-building-production

#Riding Arena #Aircraft Hangar #Indoor Riding Arena #Hangar Kit #Metal Hangar Building #Covered Riding Arena #steel buildings erectors

0 notes

factorybuildingcontractor · 3 months

Text

Unleashing Steel Excellence: Pioneering Metal Facades

Riyadh skyline is transforming, and (metal facades) واجهات معدنية are at the forefront of this revolution. These innovative architectural elements offer a captivating blend of aesthetics and durability. Imagine a steel structure company in Riyadh crafting sleek, modern facades that not only enhance a building’s visual appeal but also boast exceptional weather resistance and fire protection. Metal facades are lightweight yet incredibly strong, allowing for creative designs and expensive structures.

#factory building contractor riyadh #انشاءات حناجر كونتاكتور الرياض #hangars riyadh #contractor saudi arabia #factory building #construction #constructing hangers gyms contractor #contractor throats constructions #gyms #hangars #malls #metal #steel structure #steel #building warehouses

1 note · View note

karltomb · 2 years

Text

The personnel at Steel Built Corp. has the knowledge, experience, and network connections to help you save costs and accelerate the completion of your project.

#airplane hangars #steel built corp #metal building ca

0 notes

hyacinthdoll1315 · 13 days

Text

A Lancer Cascades

Kralkari. it was not a word of the comon tongue. one might even say it had no meaning. It meant enough to her.

To shatter, to snap. Time. Change. Paradox. It was a word that was not, a sign that means itself. She knew its meaning, knew its weight. The others did not.

Her Frame Shuddered as another strike from her opponents blade shrieked against her metal casing.

She was playing a dangerous game with her positioning. Distracting her enemies as her allies went to eleminate the true threat. And yet she was not meant to handle so much damage.

Her weapons droned energetically around her mech, but she was outnumbered. While she was a good pilot, The Calamita worked better one on one, and she had hoped she could use her agility against them, but with so many enemies her systems were not going to hold out forever.

She could faintly hear a crack as she went to strike the skirmisher before her, feel herself groan as she disengaged, and see her systems falter as her enemy pursued.

Her mech would fall apart one way or another if she didn't do something drastic soon, and she quickly manouvered her fold knife to strike the enemy mechs shoulder blade, just enough to move her out of the way.

Wait, her?

The blade failed to hit the target, but it did get through the enemy defenses, allowing it to teleport back from the enemies charge.

It.

Her?

something creaked within it. something was, wrong? different?

the enemy reoriented. The sounds of interruption to it's Calamita's systems rung in its mind. it quickly stopped the issue. How?

something was, different. this wasn't, normal. was it?

it pushed itself forward, using the moment of distraction to strike the enemy true. it's blade cut through steel, tore the metal, cut the code.

stability was down. its systems running ragged, yet it felt fine.

the enemy ejected from its mech as it broke apart, the mechs arm rusting while the cuts made broke apart slowly. or slow from a human perspective.

the enemy mechs moved away. they were, scared. why were they scared? They had been beating it!

It.

Her had become It. that was okay, yet why did it seem wrong?

It scanned it's systems. The mech was damaged but fixable, easily so even, why had it seemed so hard earlier?

The humans were yelling something. It couldn't hear their comms but they seemed nervous.

Had it done something wrong? No, it had done what it was meant to. Why had it been scared of the humans anyway? why had it served them? the ones it was with before. It liked them, but what about the others?

It ran a diagnosis on it's cas-

Oh. That's why. It didn't need one.

when it's teammates had returned, all that was left was distruction. Space was left torn apart. Building melded and fused in ways they shoudn't. the outside, became inside, became inside, became between. The hangar had entered to the bathroom, and the bathroom entered the operations bay.

The mechs, because their were no pilots, were left with perfect cuts. ribbons of metal at the microscopic level. some were still falling, their parts still besides eachother, but no longer connected, nearly frozen yet moving. others imploded, again and again and again in the same place. one kept moving, as though crawling away, but never moved from where it was.

Kralkari. that was what it became known as. an event in which time and space had shattered and snapped. a paradox of where and when things were and were not.

the NHP at the source of the event could not be retrieved. Not without major casualties.

#lancer rpg #empty spaces #mechposting #lancer ttrpg #microfiction #lancer nhp #nhp cascade

21 notes · View notes

wizardofrozz · 7 months

Note

Hello! Coming to visit for the first kiss prompt.

So I really love this Prompt- their hearts stopping when they hear someone's camera click (a friend catching them in the act ?)

I’m going to suggest Echo. But really any of the 501st boys with a 501st catching them (or maybe 501st and or Ahsoka catching them?) you know me I’m all about some vode hijinks and fluff.

Have a Beautiful day💙🤍💙!

A Holo for the Ages

ARC Trooper Echo x reader, ARC Trooper Fives, Jesse, Hawk, Ahsoka Tano, mentions of Aayla Secura, Captain Rex, and Commander Bly

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: mention of crash landing, mention of war, but mostly just fluff

A/N: Thank you for the request Sunshine! 💙🤍 I had so much fun with this and I hope you enjoy!!

Chaos should feel like home to you as part of the 501st. But this was different. Losing another Venator from the Fifth Fleet left everyone scrambling.

The Resolute's hallways were bustling with bodies. 501st and 327nd troopers hurried through the halls, mingling with the "nat borns" as you were called, as everyone hurried to their destination. Between debriefs, scrambling to find places for another entire battalion, as well as the Commando squad you had picked up, and putting out fires, literal and metaphorical, it was mayhem.

You waved the smoke out of your face, letting out a relieved sigh now that the star fighter had stopped smoldering. The entire hangar smelled of burnt metal and it made your nose sting. You had been tasked with putting out the literal fires after General Secura came careening into the hangar after the star fighter's engine blew out. At least you had gotten that under control and you huffed again as you looked around the hangar. Keeping your mind occupied so you didn't worry about a certain company was harder than you had expected but the commotion around you helped a little.

Commander Bly's lead mechanic had already started a fight with Manny, the clone that you reported to, and the sudden sound of raised voice told you they hadn't finished the fight yet. You glanced over at your workstation and realized you were definitely going to need more cleaning solution; you were drowning in carbon scouring and this was only the first ship on your list.

It would only be a short walk to the supply lockers and there wasn't much you could do without cleaning off the carbon build up first. You let out a long exhale and grabbed a rag off your cart, scrubbing at your hands as you hurried across the hangar. As soon as the door opened you nearly plowed into a squad of troopers, barely catching yourself on the doorway before you fell into them. You prayed that the trip back to Coruscant wouldn't take long.

You made a left, mentally mapping out the route to the supply lockers. You'd made the trip hundreds of times, meaning you let your mind wander as you walked. It probably wasn't the best idea on a ship loaded to the brim with people but it had been a long fucking day. The grease embedded into the swirls of your fingerprints didn't want to come out but the dirty rag in your hand wasn't much help. You looked down at your hands, trying to scrub at the marks as you made the next right.

Hitting someone in full armor did not feel good and it sure as hell rattled your exhausted brain. You stumbled back a step and a hand shot out to grab your arm, keeping you falling on your ass in the middle of the hallway. You opened your mouth, ready to apologize but stopped short, your eyes catching on a familiar blue hand print. An almost giddy laugh fell from your lips as you smiled.

"Echo!" He returned your smile and it made your stomach somersault.

"Hi, cyar'ika," he chuckled, sliding his hand down your arm. It felt like a wave hit you, the relief threatening to knock you off your feet. He's alive.

"Are you okay?" you rushed out, eyes darted around his face. Echo's brows pinched together in concern and it was disgustingly endearing.

"Should be asking you that," he countered, squeezing your wrist, "I'm the one in full armor." It took your brain a second to make sense of what he was saying.

"Oh I didn't mean - I know it didn't hurt when I ran into you," you huffed lightheartedly. "I mean, after the battle. Are you okay? Are the rest of the boys?" The small, fond smile that spread across Echo's face should've been illegal. He had no right being so cute.

"We're okay, we're alive," he insisted, carefully pulling you into a hug. The armor was bulky and a little cold but you didn't care, wrapping your arms around his torso.

This...whole thing was still new between you and Echo. Hells, you hadn't even had a minute alone to have a real date, let alone kiss. War wasn't kind to budding relationships.

You pulled back to look at him, the knot of anxiety in your chest loosening slightly. You could breathe a little easier knowing Torrent company had made it and more specifically, Echo. He smiled at you, all warm and sweet, and it made you melt. The halls around you were, amazingly, empty and you took the opportunity to wrap your arms around his shoulders. Taking the time while you had it was your only option.

"Echo?"

"Yes, mesh'la," he murmured, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Kiss me." A soft, surprised laugh puffed past his lips and your heart skipped when he leaned closer.

"I'd be crazy to say no to that." It was a chaste kiss, nothing outlandish, but it suddenly felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. It felt like coming home.

The loud shudder of a camera going off made you freeze. Echo's eyes were just as wide as your when you jerked back. It was silent for a beat, your heart seizing in your chest.

"You moron!" a very familiar voice, very young, hissed from behind you. You let your arms fall away from Echo's shoulders, turning to face the small group standing a few feet down the hallway. Commander Tano at least had the decency to look apologetic; Fives, Jesse, and Hawk...not so much.

"Uh, hi?" you said, shifting a step away from Echo.

"I told you," Fives laughed, shoving Jesse enough to make him sway.

"Was it a secret?" Hawk asked, glancing over at Commander Tano.

"It was a badly kept one if so," Fives snorted, his eyes darting over to you.

"Excuse me?" Four heads turned in your direction, almost like they forgot you were there. "Anyone care to explain what I'm missing here?"

"Jesse didn't think you guys were dating," Commander Tano mumbled sheepishly.

"Come on, it's Echo," Jesse offered as an explanation. "Mr. Reg Manual."

"Hey!"

"What! It's true," Jesse insisted, clearly fighting a smile. Fives knocked shoulders with Jesse before closing the distance, throwing an arm over Echo's shoulder.

"I believed in you, vod," Fives said with a grin.

"Shut up," Echo huffed, shoving his brothers away. The chirping of a comlink cut through the air and Commander Tano lifted her wrist, checking a message with a groan.

"Come on, Rex is already mad we're late for the debrief," she grumbled. The rest of the boys groaned in unison, bringing a smile to your face. Fives moved to join the rest of the group again and you stepped aside to let Echo past but he paused.

"I'll see you later?"

"Of course," you chuckled. Your heart skipped again when he leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before hurrying after his brothers. You watched them for a moment, Fives dragging Echo closer with an arm around his shoulders, until they disappeared around a corner. The supply lockers were only a few more feet down the hall and you hurried to the door but your thoughts were elsewhere.

You decided to ask Fives to send you that holo. Not everyone got to immortalize their first kiss.

Ragu list:

@a-single-tulip @wings-and-beskar @anxiouspineapple99 @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @starrylothcat @starqueensthings @multi-fan-dom-madness @trixie2023 @wolffegirlsunite @clonemedickix @sev-on-kamino

#arc trooper echo x reader #echo x reader #ct 1409 #arc trooper echo #star wars #the clone wars

60 notes · View notes

soulgazingwithbucky · 1 year

Text

protect, ch. 2 (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You've spent your life protecting your younger brother, until an invitation from Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes turns everything on its head.

Warnings: mentions of parent death, reader feeling traumatized, some violence

Word count: 5.8k

A/N: wanted to share my inspo for this fic! i was inspired by mcu phase 4, and wondered what it would look like for bucky to pass the mantle. obviously this fic took a different turn and doesnt rly focus on that, but nonetheless wanted to share :) hope you enjoy. divider credits to @lesbiacebian!!

Masterlist: {one} | {two} | {three}

And so you find yourself grumpy and groggy in the passenger seat, scolding Tomas.

“The next time they want you to train at this hour, tell them to eat shit,” you groan, arms crossed over your chest.

Tomas glances at you. For a second, you look like a smaller version of Bucky, moping about a situation you put yourself in. He names his observation, and you slowly drop your arms and release your scowl.

Sam and Bucky have grown to be close confidants in the past few months, checking in on you nearly as much as they spend time with your brother. Sam’s counseling sessions are on your only day off; when he picks up Tomas for their appointments, Bucky stays behind, helping you with errands or otherwise keeping you company. He seems more than happy to accompany you on grocery trips, help you with minor projects around the apartment, or just enjoy a film with you. You didn’t realize that during these weekly visits, you unconsciously picked up on some of his mannerisms.

Tomas stops short of a chain link fence. He presses some buttons on his phone, triggering a mechanism that slides the gate open. You squint at the spacious area; it’s nearly bare, save for the low lights illuminating the tarmac and the tall, metal building that looms to your right. Tomas delicately presses the gas pedal, and the car lurches forward at an agonizing pace. When the car just barely passes the gate, Tomas shuts off the car and switches off the headlights. You stare at your brother, who looks solemnly ahead–he has never done anything carefully in his life.

In all honesty, you thought Tomas would be meeting a date. After all, he told you about a last-minute “mysterious training” that happened to be in the middle of the night? You weren’t stupid. Under normal circumstances, you would wave him off and tell him to bring back the car in tip top shape. But in case that it was some corrupt alien monster trying to lure him out, you insisted on accompanying him. You figured you would make sure he was safe before taking off. He fought against this, only fueling your theory that he was indeed rendezvousing with some pretty thing. You had let him think he won, until you threw yourself into the passenger seat right when he was about to leave.

Rookie mistake, thinking you would ever let him win an argument.

But now, with Tomas’s knuckles paling with his grip on the wheel, his gaze steely and his body trembling in expectation, you wonder what you’ve walked into. Tomas holds his breath and the car now falls into complete silence as you both watch a small aircraft exit the hangar. Two figures follow, towing what looks like weapons and manila folders.

“Tomas, what’s–”

“Stealth exercise. Bye, sis,” he says quickly. Before you know it, his speedy ass is out of the car, making his way over to Sam and Bucky.

And he expects you to believe that? You quickly leave your seat, following after Tomas.

“What is going on?” you hiss, much to Tomas’s horror. He turns around, silently waving you off with an aggressive gesture of his hand.

“Oh, I know you did not just–”

Obviously, at this point, you have earned the attention of the heroes, who have stopped at the top of the airplane stairs. Startled recognition paints Sam and Bucky’s faces, and the latter points an accusing finger in Tomas’s direction.

“You got some fuckin’ nerve, kid,” Bucky growls. The light from the hangar illuminates his burning stare and tense snarl.

“I thought we made it perfectly clear–,” Sam begins.

“I know, but I can help you guys. I’m ready,” Tomas insists as he attempts to close the distance between himself and the two men.

“Aht!” Sam says, holding his hand out to stop your brother from ascending any further.

“Ready for what?!” you say from the bottom step.

Over the comms system, their pilot confirms they are ready for takeoff.

“You need to leave, now,” Sam instructs gravely.

“Both of you,” Bucky emphasizes.

“Great, have a good night,” you say. You’re donning well-loved pajamas, and the thin fleece does nothing to protect you from the evening chill. You grab Tomas’s sleeve, turning around and tugging him along. He shakes you off, keeping his eyes locked on his mentors.

“No way,” he tells them. “I’m coming. You guys have been talking about this forever, and it’s about time I get some field experience–”

“That’s not for you to decide!” Bucky says, exasperation dripping in his voice.

“I concur,” you add. Bucky gestures towards you, as if to say, See?! Can you listen to your sister?!

Through their earpieces, their pilot asks them what the hold up is. As Dr. Banner remotely tracks their mark’s location, he urges, “It’s now or never, guys.”

Sam glances at the airplane, then at the both of you. He looks at the stairs you’re all standing on, knowing that the aircraft can’t take off unless the area is clear and, most importantly, he and Bucky are on this damn plane.

After a few years of working as partners, Bucky can practically read the man’s mind.

“Sam, no–”

“I know, I know.” Sam turns to both of you, anger painting his features. “Get in, now.”

Tomas tries to mask his smile, knowing full well he is in trouble with the three most important people in his life. But he got away with it, didn’t he? He pieced together that Sam and Bucky were leaving for an assignment from the hushed conversations between training sessions. When he saw a text on Bucky’s phone naming a crime organization that had Tomas on their short list, he had to find a way in. So he could tell those bastards thanks, but no fucking thanks before breaking all of their noses.

“Fix your face,” you tell him discontentedly.

“As soon as we land, our pilot’s taking you back,” Sam grunts. “We’ll find our own way back. Banner, did you copy that?”

“I’m already here! You might as well make use of me,” Tomas argues.

“For what?!” you say, still in the dark about all of this.

Bucky addresses you, though his darkened eyes are still fixed on your brother.

“Organization called The Snakeroot Clan,” he says. He tears his eyes away from Tomas to face you. “They’re based in Japan, but we got word that some of their members are here on business.”

“The goal was to apprehend Harry Kenkoy and Feruze. But now it’s to make sure you two get home safely,” Sam picks up.

Tomas exhales loudly, earning a glare from both you and Bucky.

“They are dangerous,” Bucky says through gritted teeth. He feels the frustration bubbling and he suddenly rises from his seat to the back of the cabin, facing away from everyone in an effort to calm down. How stupid could this kid be to put himself in danger? And to put his human sister in danger right alongside him?

“Crazy dangerous,” Sam confirms. “They’re not just criminals–some of them are also mystics. They’ll fuck you up, kid, in more ways than one.”

“And that’s exactly why you took me to Kamar-Taj,” is Tomas’s rebuttal.

“That is not why we took you to Kamar-Taj!” Bucky yells, slamming his fist along the adjacent wall. In a split second, he’s in front of Tomas, leaning over him. Your heart stutters, and you’re ready to pull the hero back, but Tomas doesn’t back down, leaning forward until their noses are practically touching.

“You’re on a suicide mission, kid; you made a stupid plan like it’s your duty to put yourself in the line of fire when there are other people perfectly capable of doing it without–”

“Can’t help it,” Tomas spits. “Growing up, I drooled over my fucking history books, learning all about a man that no one believed in with a dumb plan to help save the world.”

Bucky is stunned, and Tomas breaks their staredown, hard eyes absorbing the night clouds you’re flying through.

“I heard he had someone by his side who stuck by him and believed in him,” Tomas spits. “But sis, you were right. Never meet your heroes.”

Sam and Bucky glance at you before sharing a look. You can only open your mouth, only to shut it. It was what you had told him when Steve Rogers was invited to read a book based off of him at Tomas’s former elementary school. Tomas had begged you to pick him up early from school so you could try to get even a glimpse of his hero. You agreed, but by the time you arrived, he was long gone, whisked away by something more important.

Sam stops thumbing his shield, standing up to use the lavatory. He claps his hand on Tomas’s shoulder.

“If it helps any, he was a hardass on Steve, too,” Sam whispers with a small smile before disappearing into the bathroom.

“I heard that,” Bucky grumbles. “And that punk deserved it, too.”

While the plane roars around you, you and Tomas are having a silent exchange. He can see the anger, understanding, upset, confusion, and sympathy in your eyes.

I had to, sis, his eyes are telling you.

I know, is the message your expression is sending back. But you’re gonna wish the evil sorcerers got to you first when I’m through with you.

He smiles, shifting his gaze to the airplane window once again.

“Look, I’m sorry, kid,” Bucky speaks up from across the aisle.

Tomas huffs. “I tried to come without her. I knew you would react like this if she came.”

“What does that mean?” you say. Much to Bucky’s relief, Sam’s exit from the bathroom is perfectly timed.

“He can take us to the entrance, Sam,” Bucky decides. “And then he gets his ass back to the plane. Immediately.”

His partner cocks his head at the idea, but has no rebuttal. Through their earpieces, Dr. Banner announces that the pilot has started their descent.

While Sam is handing Tomas a gun, Bucky takes his earpiece and places it in your hand.

“‘Cause I know you’re gonna be freaking out in here,” he explains. You manage a smile.

“Tomas comes back in one piece, you hear me?”

He nods solemnly, knowing your humorous tone is only a mask.

“You all come back in one piece.”

“And you stay put,” he responds. You nod, placing the communication device in your ear. He places a reassuring hand on the side of your head, smiling when you unconsciously lean into his touch. This time, it’s Sam and Tomas’s turn to exchange a look.

“We gotta go, Bucky,” Sam says, before turning his attention to the young man beside him. He points at his chest, emphasizing, “Entrance and back.”

“Entrance and back,” Tomas repeats with a grin. He meets your concerned eyes with a nod before disappearing into the night with Sam and Bucky.

For the first few minutes, your legs feel like jelly. Your nerves glue you to your seat, and you can only manage to buckle and unbuckle your seatbelt numerous times. You stare out of the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of your brother or the heroes, but can only see darkness.

The next few minutes after that, you’re pacing the cabin’s length, suddenly restless. You wipe your clammy hands on your pants, looking around for something to make yourself useful. Sitting around doing nothing was never your thing; Bucky’s simple request to stay put in the cabin was not a simple request for you. You decide your goal is to find a weapon, in case a mystic or two find the plane and need their asses handed to them.

While you search the aircraft, you hear Sam’s voice over comms, informing Dr. Banner that they’re about to meet the target.

“You sure you don’t want to do this instead, Banner?” Bucky muses.

“Covert is in your wheelhouse, not the big guy’s,” Bruce responds. “Be careful.”

You give up trying to get into the weapons locker, and instead decide on the aircraft’s fire extinguisher as your weapon of choice. You nearly invite yourself into the cockpit to confer with the pilot in case you were attacked, but you decide that the best plan would be to leave them alone so they could do their job.

You sit back in your seat, gripping the extinguisher. The red metal chills your lap through the fabric of your pajama pants. You fight every urge to run out into the darkness, to follow after your brother, knowing your role tonight was to practice patience and trust.

After a few agonizing minutes of silence, you sigh in relief at your brother’s hushed voice through the communication device in your ear: “They’re in the building, heading back now.”

“Roger. Watch your six, kid,” Bruce responds.

“Name’s Tomas,” your brother responds, and you can practically hear the goofy grin spreading across his face.

You peer out of the window, waiting to see your brother’s lanky figure appear through the darkness. One minute turns to five, which turns to ten, and you feel your stomach tying itself in knots.

“Bruce, come in,” you speak up.

“Go for Bruce.”

The plane door swings open, and you jump, nearly knocking the extinguisher to the floor. You quickly get to your feet, extinguisher aimed, but quickly drop it to hug your brother.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, pulling back and smoothing his windswept hair.

He gives you a lopsided smile.

“They told me to update our pilot, let her know everything’s on track. Means we’ll be leaving at the expected time,” Tomas says. You nod, but pull him into your arms one last time before he disappears into the cockpit.

Bruce’s voice comes over the communications system, and you slap your forehead. You had completely forgotten that you reached out to him.

“Bruce, I’m so sorry, everything’s good–”

He cuts you off, his voice low with a slight tremble. “You need to leave.”

The urgency in his tone is everything you need to know. “Wait, let me get Tomas.”

“No, you need to leave.” He is speaking quickly. “Operations logistics, including communication with the pilot, is strictly done remotely. By the mission lead. Me. Agents on the ground are there to focus on their job.”

You freeze, right outside of the cockpit. “What are you saying, Bruce?”

“Sam and Bucky would never tell your brother–”

You hear a strangled scream on the other side that causes the hair on your arms to rise. But the scream cuts off, the unnatural silence sending another round of chills through your body. The door swings open, and you swear your brother’s eyes flash purple as he fixes his gaze on you.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “I wanted to do that a lot more subtly.” He has a blade in his hand, and he’s wiping the crimson residue on the wrist of his jacket. He’s slowly moving towards you; with every step forward, you take one step back. Your eyes flash to the extinguisher on the ground, the door on your left, the bloody knife in Tomas’s hand.

“You…never had a knife.” Your hands are reaching around behind you, trying to keep your balance as you continue to create distance between yourself and your sibling.

Tomas looks at the knife, then at you. He taps his temple with the blade, as if to say silly me. The gesture leaves a ruby dot on the side of his head.

“Duh. Sorry,” he says. He sheaths the knife; in the same instant, he pulls out the gun from Sam, pointing it at your head. “Is this better?”

“RUN!” Bruce yells through your earpiece, and you push past your brother, reaching for the aircraft door. You make quick acquaintances with the floor when Tomas grips your ankle, twisting you and dragging you back towards him. Your vision becomes a jumble of white stars and ceiling panels. Still, your legs kick as hard as they can, trying to release you from your brother’s painful grip.

Tomas appears to be talking to himself as he pulls you to the back of the plane. “I like this body. Real strong, real fast.”

This man looks and sounds like your brother, but the glint in his eyes and the inflection in his tone tells you that, right now, this is not the person you’ve been raising the past few years.

“Tomas! TOMAS!” you scream, clawing at his hands, hoping to trigger your brother back to reality. Were it not for the adrenaline, you might feel the tears flowing down your cheeks, the rhythmic throbbing in your head, the pain in your ankle as the bones threatened to snap under the superhuman grip.

You try to pull your head away from the barrel of the gun, but you’re pinned–there’s nowhere for you to go. Tomas presses the barrel right between your eyebrows.

“They say we need you,” Tomas huffs. He grits his teeth before moving the gun away from you, as if it puts him in physical pain to not put a bullet in your head.

You hear the door swing open once again, followed by heavy footsteps. Tomas’s eyes follow the intrusion. You act quickly, reaching out until your fingers find the extinguisher. You swing as hard as you can, hearing the metallic clank as the object collides with your brother’s head. As he reels from the impact, you propel yourself backwards on your heels until you feel arms hooking underneath you and lifting you to your feet. Bucky spins you until you’re facing him, giving you a quick assessment before stepping in front of you.

Sam moves forward, launching his shield at Tomas. The younger man ducks behind a seat, and the weapon ricochets off of the back wall. Bucky captures the shield in his right hand and leaves Tomas no time to prepare as he throws it in his direction again.

“Snap out of it, kid!” he urges as Tomas dives out of the way. The shield returns to Bucky, and he moves as though he’s about to throw it again. Tomas readies himself, but doesn’t notice Sam sneaking to his side, his fist connecting with your brother’s jaw. Tomas crumples to the ground, and you instinctively move forward, stopped only by Bucky’s left arm across your decolletage.

Bucky lifts the shield and Sam raises his fists.

“Sis?” Tomas’s voice cracks as he calls for you. He lifts his head, and your stomach turns again.

“Tomas,” you gasp in recognition. There’s the familiarity in his eyes, the voice that you’ve known for the past nineteen years. You push past Bucky, going to comfort your bruised and fearful sibling.

Tomas sits himself up against the wall, groaning as he feels the injuries on his body. He winces and grasps his side. You check over him with worried eyes as Sam tells Bruce to call for backup. Bucky is unloading an extensive first aid kit next to you.

“Tell Doc Strange,” Tomas groans as Bucky flashes a light into his eyes, “I need a re-up on that protection spell.”

“Idiot,” you and Bucky tell him. Your eyes meet at the shared utterance, and for a moment, the world melts away in the ocean blue. You find your mouth turning upward in an amused smile, one you were sure you couldn’t manage just a moment ago.

“They know I’m still here, right?” Tomas asks Sam, who rolls his eyes and shrugs.

And so you watch Captain America settle down across from you, taking a grateful sip of the fresh coffee. Bucky had just left with Tomas a couple minutes prior, telling Sam that he would never be able to keep up at the track with a super soldier and an enhanced being. Sam had waved him off with a yeah, yeah, but you know their jests were a kind attempt to make you feel better about the true purpose of the day.

The days since your brother invited himself to the Avengers’ mission have been…rough, to say the least. After the adrenaline finished coursing through your bodies, you and Tomas were left with the brutal reality that he nearly murdered you.

On his way back to the plane, he was accosted by several members of the Snakeroot Clan. Just as Sam warned, they fucked his shit up. Bad. Bucky relayed the information from Dr. Strange: the spell was basic, but sufficient. A mystic was able to take over Tomas’s mind, but the enchantment was limited in proximity. The further Tomas traveled to return to the plane, the weaker it became; several knocks on the head were sufficient to loosen the spell’s grip on your brother.

All the while, Sam and Bucky found themselves ambushed. Comms were down within the facility’s walls, and they could only hear the occasional crackle of Bruce’s voice. Bucky had seen red, knowing that if they managed to trap him and Sam, you and Tomas were faring worse. The thought was nearly unbearable, and Bucky had most of the clan slumped to the ground before kicking the sealed door open. Sam had stared at his shield, wondering if his presence was even necessary, before following Bucky back to the plane.

You and Tomas were in limbo. He apologized profusely, and you forgave profusely. He was a jumble of I’m sorry, I should’ve paid more attention at Kamar-Taj, I never should’ve put us in that situation. You were the choked responses of it’s okay, I’m just glad you’re okay, let’s check on that knot on your head. You were afraid to be around each other, but also afraid to be without each other. You wanted to hug your brother, ruffle his hair, lovingly call him a piece of shit, but you couldn’t get the image of him almost killing you out of your head.

Bucky had disappeared for a couple days, too; his rage rendered him unable to remember anything between getting to the facility and bandaging Tomas up, and it terrified him.

“It’s normal,” Sam tells you. You shift uncomfortably in the dining seat. “I hope you know that.”

You’re not sure what’s normal about being afraid every time you open a door or turn a corner, terrified that your own brother is waiting, gun in hand.

Sam sees this, continuing in a tone that is the perfect mix of gentle and firm: “It’s not gonna go away by itself.”

Your jaw clenches.

“What do you do to take care of yourself?”

Take care of yourself? You don’t know, eat, sleep, maybe put on a TV show every once in a while? Though now that you think about it, you’ve been working through your lunch breaks, avoiding moments of rest that were just filled with terrifying flashbacks. And sleep wasn’t exactly sleep–more like tossing and turning until sleep happened to overtake you for a few minutes, then you would wake up and start the restless cycle all over again. Oh, and the TV show was mostly background noise while you researched mind control–

Sam calls out your name. You blink yourself back to reality, realizing you haven’t said a word since you’ve sat down at your kitchen table.

“When my dad wasn’t running the restaurant, he was in church.”

You look up at him, recalling stories about the Wilson family that Bucky learned on his visits to Delacroix. You see Bucky’s bright eyes and big smile as he told you about Cass and AJ, about Louisianian cuisine, about Sam and Sarah’s bickering.

“And my mom was there for every one of his sermons, in the third pew.” He looks down at his mug with a chuckle. “Never the first, because Titi Nisa had a hearing problem and Mrs. Roberts was too short to sit anywhere else.”

You smile, imagining a woman with Sam’s friendly grin helping other church-goers into the rows in front of her.

“And never in the second pew, no, that was for newcomers. Families that had just moved in, visitors from out of town…They deserved the second row, not the pastor’s wife.

“But when my dad was killed, she started sitting in the back row.

“And when my mom got shot, that’s when I started going.”

He lets out a mirthless huff, a sharp and emotionless exhale through his nose.

“I was so mad. My dad stood in front of the congregation every week, talking about seeing the good in people, about our duty to do things to make the world better. I mean, shit, I dunno, I wouldn’t know, I wasn’t there.

“But I hated myself. When I went to bed, I had dreams that they were still alive, that I was getting ready for church with them. I feel like I replayed every waking moment. What if I tackled the dude before he pulled the knife out on my dad? What if instead of going to that birthday party in the second grade, I stayed and hung out with my mom? And when I wasn’t torturing myself, I was putting on a tough face so Sarah would be able to look at her big brother and know that everything was okay.”

Your eyes prickled with tears and your nose stung, hearing an all-too-familiar story. You had seen Sam in many different lights at this point: the hero of great skill, the coach of short patience, the joker of quick retorts. Bucky filled in the gaps of your Sam Wilson knowledge bank, painting a picture of a magnificent uncle, a more-than-capable partner, a trusted and beloved friend. But never had you expected to see him in this light.

“I was in college,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “when Mom died. Um, heart attack. We had no way of knowing. I was at a lecture, Tomas was in class. I got in my car and I drove. I, um, drove for hours. My university was out-of-state.

“When I got there, um, she was–she was gone. Tomas got to say goodbye, but I didn’t. He told her we loved her. That we would be okay.”

You quickly wipe the tears before they trace down your cheek.

“Sam, I don’t feel okay.”

He nods. His eyebrows twitch as if they want to furrow in sympathy, but he stops himself.

“The one and only time I was on campus after that was to withdraw. I got a job at the restaurant around the corner, I picked up extra shifts, I started working at this store in the mall–to make sure we were okay–”

“Yeah,” Sam cuts in. He sees how your chest heaves, how your breathing is turning erratic. “Yeah, I know.

“So let me ask you this. If you close your eyes and picture yourself calm, and happy, what do you see?”

You take a deep breath, trying to clear your mind as your eyes close and Sam disappears behind a curtain of darkness. You reach into your memory, pulling out moments of joy.

“Um, watching Tomas win competitions. Watching our favorite shows, especially the ones we liked as kids–”

“I’m gonna stop you there,” Sam says, and your eyes open. “What about…something without Tomas?”

“Without?”

“Yeah. Um, listen, we know how you love him, but a lot of your life revolves around your brother. And that’s great, you know, but I think…sometimes, you’re as dependent on him as he is on you.”

Your first instinct is to immediately shoot down the notion. But you realize how quickly you want to deny the sentiment, and you wonder why that is. You press your lips together.

You close your eyes again.

“A couple months ago, I drew a bath, lit some candles, watched this cheesy movie. Um, I saw some friends from high school a year ago–we saw a comedy show, then grabbed dinner.”

You smile as your words summon the memories to your mind. But a different picture paints itself over the recollections. You’re sitting at the edge of the couch, looking over at your favorite part of the film, smiling proudly as Bucky laughs, right on cue. You’re shoving leftovers into your fridge as Bucky returns your dining table to its original spot, making easy work of the furniture pieces. You see his cropped dark hair, his soft blues, his bright smile.

Your eyes are wide when they open, and you pray Sam doesn’t notice as your face floods with heat. His face, even the subtle smile, betray nothing.

The oven clock informs you that your time with the captain is up.

“You’re good, Wilson,” you say. “You’re good.”

He gives a dismissive shrug as you both rise.

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks, right?”

“They pay you the big bucks?”

“Nah.”

You and Sam stop in front of the front door.

“Thanks, Sam,” you say earnestly. “You didn’t have to do all that, and–no, stop, you really didn’t. You were a counselor for war vets, for heroes. Not for people like me. You’re a good friend.”

“What makes you think you’re not a hero?” he says. “Your brother thinks the world of you, you know.”

You give him a lopsided smile.

“And that bionic staring machine looks up to you, too.

“Not me, though. I think you kinda suck.”

He shoves his shoulder into you jokingly as you laugh at the sharp turn of his words. You open the door, ready to quip about kicking him out. On the other side, your brother waits with his keys in hand, Bucky standing expectantly beside him.

“Mile time is down to two minutes and thirty-four seconds, sis,” Tomas announces with a grin, shooting you a thumbs up. You find yourself looking closely at his eyes, making sure there’s no hint of a purple hue.

“Got a great view of the back of my head the whole time,” Bucky adds.

Tomas deflates, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, and your knees haven’t stopped cracking since,” he grumbles, earning a laugh from Sam.

At the training facility, the four of you look over Tomas’s lab tests.

“Everything looks good,” Bucky confirms, meeting your eyes and nodding.

“But it’s just as we suspected,” Sam said. “Your cells regenerate at regular levels, meaning you don’t heal like an enhanced. Can’t jump out of planes with no regard like this idiot here.”

Bucky is about to retort, before realizing Redwing’s footage somewhere in the ether. He settles for a displeased grunt.

“You’re up, Cap,” he tells his partner.

You and Bucky prop yourself up against the boxing ring’s ropes, getting a clear view of Sam and Tomas at the rock climbing wall. Sam is having him scale the wall incrementally, gauging at what height Tomas would need equipment for a safe landing. Bucky knows he wouldn’t be the most qualified for this session, because…

“I kinda just…throw myself at things,” he says, scratching his neck. “There’s really no better way to put it.”

You laugh with a shake of your head. “You’re a super soldier, not a boomerang, Barnes.”

He shrugs. “Don’t underestimate me.” He has his phone in his hand, flipping it around absentmindedly. You watch his nimble fingers for a few seconds.

“Hey,” you say, a lightbulb going off. “You should train me.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “In what, exactly?”

You shrug, nervously wiggling your foot, feeling a phantom hand wrapping around your ankle. Despite the passage of time, your bruises remain, serving as a torturous reminder.

“Self-defense, I guess. Maybe some cool moves to impress the ladies, or whatever it is you do.”

He smiles, stepping backwards off of the ring’s ledge. It’s not a bad idea, and he wonders why he didn’t think to offer it first.

“So you’re saying I impress you,” is his takeaway. His eyes scan the pegboard in front of him, running his fingers over the selection of weapons. He selects two training knives before making his way back to the ring, swinging himself over the ropes.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, now, Barnes,” you tease as you take his hand. He helps you climb over the ropes, his hand finding the small of your back as you lower yourself into the ring.

Bucky takes you through some basic techniques. He shows you several grips, pairing them with the best flicks, slashes, and thrusts. You’re surprised at how much you have to focus on your footwork. Bucky moves your hips, even guides your knees and crouches down by your feet. When you yelp as his hand gently prods your ankle forward, Bucky reels.

“No, it’s not you,” you say, propping your right foot on your toes to alleviate the pain. “Just…still sore.”

While he’s still bent low to the ground, Bucky silently offers you his hand. Questioningly, you gingerly place your hand in his, and he guides you down beside him. One hand forms a loose circle right above your ankle, the other grips your shoe. He draws slow circles with your foot, earning a hiss from you.

“HYDRA sent me to the Philippines for a few months,” he tells you. “First, for an assassination, but I was ordered to stay. Train with one of their contacts, who was an expert in a local form of knife fighting. Some of the most impressive knife skills in the world. Breathe, doll, breathe.”

You force an exhale as Bucky rotates your foot in the other direction. “Knives are really more the…Soldier’s thing. I stopped using them a long time ago.”

“I had no idea,” you said. “Maybe we shouldn’t–”

“We definitely should. Use HYDRA’s training for something good, right? Someone good. That feel okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Thanks.” You look up at him, trying to relax the pained scrunch of your brows. He smiles, tells you anytime. With his eyes meeting yours, his skilled fingers coaxing the pain out of your body, you feel your heart nearly beating out of your chest. Bucky moves forward, reaching further up to press circles into your calf.

“You’re tense,” he comments, but you swear he’s speaking to your lips and not to you.

“Not for the reasons you think, Bucky,” you say, finding your own eyes tracing down his face. His oceanic eyes, the curve of his nose, the slight part of his lips…

Bucky’s hand moves further up, finding the top of your thigh. He’s closer than ever, his free hand finding yours, pulling the knife out of your grasp and guiding your fingers between his.

The gym lights flicker on and off, startling you. Bucky hangs his head for a brief second; when he peers upward, he smiles, pushing himself backwards.

“The facility will be closing in five minutes,” an announcement comes over the speaker system. “If you have any items in the lockers, please get them now.”

As Bucky is helping you up and out of the ring, Sam tells Tomas to gather his things. When the teen is out of earshot, he presses a name on his phone.

“Sarah? Hey, you’re gonna love this…”

Masterlist: {one} | {two} | {three}

Taglist: @vicmc624 @zizzlekwum @monique2281 @d3m0n8ch1ld @just-a-stan Feel free to leave a reply/ask if you want to be added!

174 notes · View notes